


in your heart i see the start

by theclaravoyant



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-10-11 15:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: If there’s one thing that will get David out of bed before 10am, it’s food.If there’s two, the other might just be the sight of Patrick making said food.Fluffy David x Patrick drabbles. Prompts welcome.





	1. Fluff

**Author's Note:**

> If there’s one thing that will get David out of bed before 10am, it’s food.  
If there’s two, the other might just be the sight of Patrick making said food.
> 
> David wakes up to a special surprise, in what I hope will be the first of many David x Patrick drabbles. Prompts and fic recs welcome (here or @theclaravoyant on tumblr), but unfortunately I can't make any promises at the moment. In the meantime, enjoy!

If there’s one thing that will get David out of bed before 10am, it’s food. If there’s two, the other might just be the sight of Patrick making said food, which he is promised by the crackling of oil on the stove and the absentminded humming of the familiar _Cabaret _soundtrack. So, all in all, he’s not overly devastated to drag himself out of bed and trudge the few feet required, in this tiny little place, to be able to watch his man at work.

It takes his muddled morning brain – not helped in the slightest by the sight of Patrick’s shoulders so early in the day – a minute to work it out, but he can tell, something’s different today. He has a strange feeling he recognises that olive-green, shaggy wool pullover Patrick’s got on. 

“Umm, what is this??” David wonders, gesturing as if at the whole situation.

At the sound of David’s voice, Patrick turns away from the kitchen counter and looks down. 

“What, you don’t like it?” 

“Um, yes I do, that’s why I imported it from Milan even though the shipping is _ri di cu lous_,” David points out. Patrick blinks innocently, and David pouts and casts his eyes to the sky. It’s really not fair, how much he loves this man. So help him. “Just don’t get egg on it babe, okay?” 

Patrick sucks in air through his teeth, his nose scrunching in a decidedly Rose-family-esque expression of judgement. “Hmm, are we doing ‘babe,’ though?”

David blinks. For a moment, he’s thrown – for one, he expected a lot more teasing about the jacket – but all of a sudden there are so many more important things on his mind. Like how Patrick is making him breakfast and wearing his clothes and talking about pet names, and how there’s something weird and familiar and primal and everything-he’d-ever-dreamed about that. He can’t help himself taking a deep breath and savouring it as he scoops Patrick into his arms, and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

“What would you prefer then, _husband?” _David asks. He lets the word linger on his tongue. He likes the taste of it almost as much as the smell of bacon and eggs and cinnamon buns that’s filling his nose at this very minute, as Patrick turns within his arms so as not to neglect the food. 

_(There’s a man with priorities, _David thinks, even as he briefly entertains the idea of pulling Patrick away from them, just this once. Instead he brushes his fingers through the olive-green fuzz over Patrick’s chest until he can feel his heart, and he leans on Patrick’s back and presses another sleepy kiss to the nape of his neck.) 

“I was thinking ‘pumpkin’,” Patrick suggests, and David is too happy to care that he’s being ribbed. He brushes his hands over his sweater, his sweater that Patrick is wearing, and does not object to the mockery as Patrick piles on increasingly ridiculous nicknames. _Darling, Sweetheart,_ _Snickerdoodle._

“Shhhh, sh sh sh,” David croons, and closes his eyes, because it’s still too early in the morning to think about saying the word _snickerdoodle _with a straight face. Patrick laughs, and the warmth of the sound and the vibrations in his chest send a pleasant shiver down David’s spine. 

(It’s not unlike that word, _husband._)


	2. Fluff/Humour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which jodhpurs are Not Correct.  
\- or, Patrick tries to convince David to participate in an(other) early morning outdoor activity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the anon who prompted "david x patrick + horseriding" on tumblr (@theclaravoyant)
> 
> i actually got a few ideas from this one, all of them hilarious, but this one tied up neatest first so enjoy! (the others may be coming soon too...)

“Are you telling me you would do anything for love, but you won’t do that?” 

“Ha, ha.” David rolled his eyes at Patrick’s sparkling smirk, and continued to flip through the room service menu. “But yes, you are correct, I will not be doing that.”

“What if I asked reaaaaally nicely?” Patrick checked. He was already up and moving, because of course he was, and David was beginning to wonder if he understood what the words _lovers’ retreat _actually meant. 

“Nope.” He popped the _p, _and contemplated the variety of pancake toppings in a particularly attractive corner of the list.

“What if I wore really tight pants?” 

David put his weighing up of a citrus vs berry flavour palate on hold, and looked up. Patrick’s smirk had only widened, knowing that would get his attention, and David’s indignant gape transformed into a grimace as he realised that his boyfriend was indeed wearing … _jodhpurs._

Slowly, slowly, David’s mind worked its way through the myriad layers of horrors that was, and he found some words.

“You… purchased… those?”

“No, David. I already owned them. I used to ride, back home.” 

“Of course you did.” 

“You can buy or hire them at the store near reception,” Patrick offered, “but they let you wear jeans, too.”

“Right.” 

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“See, that’s what you said about the hike, and if I recall correctly –“ 

“Uh, if _I _recall correctly, you cried, agreed to marry me, and kissed me seventy-two times.” 

“… I do recall that, yes,” David had to confess, though it wasn’t the argument he had been hoping to use. He turned one of the rings on his finger and took a deep breath. Slowly, he let it out, and closed his eyes as he cringed and surrendered to the inevitability of it all. He trusted that man far too much for his own good, but with his last shred of dignity (and no shortage of hunger) he did manage to ask: 

“Will there be cheese after?”


	3. Hurt/Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One morning on a visit to New York, David is feeling nostalgic.  
Prompt: "You could talk about it, you know?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fictober 2019 - Prompt: "You could talk about it, you know?"
> 
> Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst with a Happy Ending

It was red-letter day, when David woke before Patrick. He was usually very good at sleeping, but tonight, the honking, bustling, shouting city outside the hotel seemed to have permeated through to his very bones. He couldn’t remember how he’d ever learned to shut it out. He had no idea how small-town born-and-bred Patrick was pulling it off, let alone with such… decorum.

(David frowned as he looked over at the pillow beside him and studied Patrick’s face. He was beautiful, a majesty, but somehow too composed. David had been hoping for a little more dishevelment, but then again - in sleep as in all things, he supposed - he was probably enough of a mess for the both of them.) 

_A mess._

That’s what he was. Maybe not as much of one now as he once had been, but still. It bothered him that he couldn’t just get over it; that even now, he couldn’t stop himself wondering if maybe, a message would appear from one of those ‘friends’ who’d left him on _read _for the last seven-odd years. Not that it would matter, he told himself, because who cared what they thought? He didn’t. Did he? He didn’t want to, at least. But he couldn’t help thinking, if his phone did light up, what would he do? Would he get jealous, insecure, turn into a bumbling mess and hide? Or would he show off, lord Patrick and the Rose Apothecary over them because he’d finally made something of himself? Either way, he would definitely care, whether the person on the other end deserved it or not. 

_What else is new? _a little voice whispered in his head, and David blinked his eyes as wide as he could manage to try and chase it away. 

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “I am way too sober for _that_ right now.” 

David didn’t tend to believe in the alleged near-sacredness of the earliest hours of the morning. He had no doubt they were beautiful, but as he had once told Patrick not so long ago, _you know what else is beautiful? Sleep._

Still. If he must be awake at this atrocious hour, there were worse places to be than a hotel room with his husband, overlooking the New York skyline, watching the sun rise. He shook his head, officially giving up on sleep once and for all, and slipped away from Patrick’s side and out of bed. As quietly as he could, he made a cup of coffee, and hunkered down over it at the little table by the big window. 

Being back here had his thoughts spiralling a lot more than he’d thought – or at least hoped – they would. As much as he enjoyed treating Patrick to the city, it had him reminiscing on pain and loneliness, compromising situations, a broken home. More than once, he’d contemplated abandoning ship and driving all the way back to Schitt’s Creek on his own. But perhaps there was something to be said for the early morning after all, because as he watched the city he had once called home become bathed in a soft golden light, he was filled with memories of fall leaves and first kisses and the welcoming, endlessly fascinating hallways of the Met. Cream cheese bagels and the relentless rainbows of his first Pride and a different, quieter sort of pride that had bloomed in his chest when he’d set the perfect piece of art over his first mantlepiece. 

Patrick woke to find his David uncharacteristically still and sombre, gazing out the window as if deep in thought. It was a rare and entrancing sight, and Patrick was loathe to interrupt, but if he were being honest, he was curious – maybe even a little worried. So he slipped out of bed and poured himself a coffee, and eased into the edge of David’s vision, following his gaze out the window as if he might find meaning somewhere out there as well. 

“David?” he asked, “everything alright?” 

David hummed, a noncommittal, _is it ever?, _because it kind of felt like it was, right now, even though his heart was starting to hurt. 

Patrick frowned. “You could talk about it, you know.” 

“I’m… not sure that I could,” David replied, and for once, he wasn’t trying to be enigmatic or melodramatic or any of those other things he often was. Honestly, it felt impossible to wrap words around the depth and breadth of his feelings. But somehow – like he always did – Patrick understood something of what he was getting at. 

“I think I might know what you mean.” 

As Patrick looked out over David’s busy, bustling, artful city, he could see why it must have felt so much like home once. But he knew David hadn’t slept since they’d arrived, and he had seen the moments of stillness between the show, and he wondered what it must be like for David to be back here in the city that had seen him raised to a glittering life and then abandoned him. Patrick still didn’t know everything about David’s past, not even almost, but he knew that a lot had changed these past few years. He wondered if David felt like an entirely different person. 

And he wondered what it would feel like for he himself to go home. To walk the same streets he’d walked with Rachel, perhaps with David instead. To go to the same ice-cream parlour he’d been to as a boy, and the arcade – was that even still there? He wondered what it would be like to visit his old college, where he’d played football and studied business law and drunk beer out of red cups and for all intents and purposes been the perfect straight man in more ways than one. Would he have been bullied, if he’d known, if he’d shown it, back then? Or would he have stood on that little stage at that little café around the corner, and sung freely about life and love and finding oneself? Perhaps a little of both. He had always been one to get what he wanted. How might his life have gone if he’d known what that was earlier? How would it feel to be home – and was it even still home, after all this? He thought, maybe it was. Maybe this was just what home felt like, once you’d left it. 

“Hey.” David looked up, and nudged Patrick. “Are _you_ alright? I didn’t mean to get all deep and meaningful…”

Patrick shook his head. “It’s alright. I was just thinking that… I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” David promised, and smiled softly, as if he never tired of hearing that, nor of saying it back. 

(A very different person, indeed.) 

They spent a moment longer watching the sun come up, finishing their coffee together in mutual silence. The moment stretched on, and at first it was pleasant, a moment out of time, but as surely as the tide David soon felt that rising itch to fill the void. He swallowed it down, so as not to spoil the moment, but so help him, he was eternally grateful when Patrick finally asked –

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” 

David took a deep breath, and pulled two thin, bound itineraries toward himself, pushing one toward Patrick as he turned his to the appropriate page. 

“I’m so glad you asked,” he said.


	4. Hurt/Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Patrick is involved in a hostage situation, he rethinks his approach to David and Stevie's reaction to the robbery.
> 
> All the violence/scary parts are off screen - this is hurt comfort pure and simple <3
> 
> Prompt from Fictober 2019: "Now? Now you listen to me?"

_“Now? _Now you listen to me?! – Oh, my god, you’re shaking –“

David pulled Patrick in as close as he could, squeezing their hammering hearts together until Patrick’s breath crept back from the verge of sobbing. David cradled Patrick’s head, stroking his hair with trembling fingers of his own, as relief and love quelled his terror-induced outburst.

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” he murmured, thinking with a sour taste in his throat of how lucky he had been, in retrospect, that the man who had robbed him had been happy with nothing more than wine and cheese. Not the real deal who’d genuinely made him believe he was going to die.

(Those past few minutes in the car, driving to the police station, hearing the words _bank hold-up _and _hostage situation _playing over and over in his head - that was a different story. He was certainly glad he knew what a panic attack felt like, otherwise he would have sworn he was done for).

“That was- That was terrifying,” Patrick panted, pawing at the blanket they’d given him with numb hands, though David’s grip on him was so tight there was no way it could slip free of his shoulders. “I’m sorry I got mad at you that day at the store – I never saw the weapon either but I – I just –“

“I know,” David assured him. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

“- I just _froze, _David, I don’t know what happened. I could have done something. I should have _done _something –“

_“No. _No.” David pressed a long, firm kiss to the top of Patrick’s head, breathing him in and trying not to imagine what _that _phone call could have been like. “You were right to leave it to the professionals, and nobody got hurt. And I fully realise the irony of the fact that it’s me saying this, but… it’s just money. We’re going to be fine.”

David loosened his grip on Patrick only enough to look into his teary eyes. It pained David’s heart, to see him so shaken, but at least he’d come through it and they were together again. So, with the smallest, gentlest of smiles, David put his hands to the sides of Patrick’s head, as Patrick so often did when David’s emotions or scattered mind were getting the best of him. Together, at last, they let their foreheads rest against each other, and took a deep breath. All at once, it felt as though there was too much to say, and that the only thing either of them wanted to do was to linger in that near-silent embrace forever, just listening to the other’s precious breath. But it was cold and crowded here, and it had been a long day, and hunger was starting to gnaw at David’s stomach and Patrick wanted to wash this whole god-awful day off him, so eventually, he cleared his throat.

“Can we get out of here?”

“Sure,” David promised, and slowly, painfully, gratefully, they began to make their way home.


End file.
